His heart burned with a dull jealousy of that past when Justine had aided Hathorn on his upward way. “If she could only get around the janitor of the ‘Circassia,’ and the letter carrier. What money can do, I can aid her in, and she must do the rest—” He closed his eyes in a fierce glow of sensual irritation, for the Parisienne had already forged chains upon him which, with all his cold craft, he could not lightly break away from. “She is not to be resisted—if she plays her own game. First the trip, then the other idea. But I could never handle this pale-faced St. Agnes—this lame bundle of all the virtues. I must have some one else here to watch Miss Mary Kelly—this convent-bred marvel. “Why not find a smart woman to be my private stenographer and one of the right kind? She could also keep an eye on Bagley and the little dove-eyed devotee. Justine may help me to the right woman. I’ll tell her all.” He began to see Lakemere moving toward him. The gilded child of fashion was first at the tryst, and Justine Duprez threw herself into her secret lover’s arms with a glad cry of triumph, when ten o’clock brought her to the meeting place. “If I could only come to you,” she fiercely sighed—“in your palace home! “But wait—wait—till we have netted my lady. I have news now to make your heart dance.” The panting woman drew from her breast a scrawl of paper, on which she had copied even the office marks. “This telegram came this morning. You see that it is dated Washington.” Vreeland’s heart bounded as he read the words: “Arlington—to-morrow. Don’t fail.” Was it an appointment—a lover’s secret call? He could have shouted with triumph, as he gazed on the signature, “Alynton,” for a messenger had brought him a note at the moment of his departure to meet Justine. His patroness had fallen into a snare. “I am going to Pittsburg to-night. Come up and dine. I will give you your orders for a week.” He drew out the note, and glanced at the firm pen stroke. “Can Alynton be the father of Alva Whiting?” he growled. He dropped his head on the table, while Justine took off her hat and wraps with the easy insouciance of a Camille. He was mad with mingled greed and jealousy. “Perhaps! Alynton’s father was an irascible magnate of enormous wealth. They are about the same age. He may have feared his father’s wrath, for he naturally should make a political marriage. Ah! my lady, you have lied to me. “If it is not the old secret of two guilty hearts, then there is the gordian knot of the great Sugar intrigue in this.” His thoughts thronged upon him with lightning rapidity, and as her head lay on his arm, he gave the triumphant Frenchwoman her orders. “Our whole future hangs on your adroitness. You must find out what goes on between them. In a hotel you have a far better chance than in either of her two homes.” Vreeland murmured that in her ears which made the vicious woman’s cheeks redden.